Devon’s flight was first, so I waited with her until she left. I thanked her for the millionth time for always doing so much for me. And then it was just me, all alone. I sat at the gate for my flight to Baton Rouge. I looked at the sign and sighed. They were boarding first class. I was way in the back. I looked at my bag, then the Baton Rouge sign again.
I heard Brad’s voice in my head. “This is kinda your shot.”
This is my shot, I thought. I knew I was only going to get one.
I grabbed my bag and I walked out of the airport. I wasn’t even old enough to rent a car, I didn’t have a credit card, and I didn’t have any money. I called the only number that I had in L.A.
Brad Armstrong answered on the first ring.
“I just walked out of the airport,” I said.
He gave me the name of a Mexican restaurant and bar he was heading to in Calabasas. “Take a cab there and I’ll meet you.”
It was a Cinco de Mayo party, and some of the biggest names in the porn industry were there. Brad paid my fare, then walked me around, introducing me to all these amazing people. I went home with him that night and we lived together as a couple for the next fourteen months. I left everything else behind, and I had my car shipped from Baton Rouge.
Because he liked me, Brad thought Wicked would probably sign me. But he also knew that no matter how respected he was in the business, I had to at least shoot a lead before Wicked would make me a contract star. With his clout, he walked me right in to meet the directors at the companies that he wanted me to work with. I never had an adult agent, and I never had an adult manager. I can hear you thinking, “Oh, here’s where she gets screwed.” Quite the opposite. I am the first to admit I was handed this golden ticket. I was in the right place at the right time and I grew the right set of balls in the moment so that I would not miss my shot.
I never had to climb the ranks or do the hard stuff. Or do scenes without a condom. I’ve been in the adult industry all this time and I’ve never had a dirty test, which is when you test positive for chlamydia or gonorrhea. I don’t have herpes, which is crazy, because a lot of people do, especially in the business. And it’s because Brad took me by the hand and walked me into the office of people who he trusted and he knew would take care of me. I only did top-shelf projects, and I was usually the lead. I know that was a source of a lot of jealousy for people who had really done their due diligence and had worked their way up. Later, when Adult Video News nominated me for Performer of the Year—which is like a Best Actress Oscar in our industry— they asked the people nominated to do on-camera interviews that they teased until the end of the awards show.
In the interview, they asked me, “Why do you think you deserve to win Performer of the Year?”
“I fucking don’t,” I said. “I’m embarrassed to be here—I didn’t earn this. There are girls who are literal sexual acrobats and have been in the trenches. I’ve been a cream puff.” They never nominated me again. That’s my problem, I’m too honest. But I think the girls in that room could look at me and say, “At least the bitch is honest.”
When I started doing films, Brad gave me some advice. “You should stick to doing girl-girl and solo stuff at first,” he said. “Pace yourself. Because if Wicked decides to give you a contract, they’re gonna want your first boy-girl.” Brad also wanted to be the one to do my first boy-girl scene with me. He wasn’t giving that up.
When an opportunity arose to do a scene with him as a lead in a Wicked film, I took it. For Heat, Brad wrote me as Charlotte, a Louisiana vixen—hmmph—who plots to steal eighty-seven thousand dollars from a drifter con artist whose car breaks down in my little town. I found doing a boy-girl scene to be easier for me than girl-girl. Just logistically, when it comes to kissing another woman, you’ve got two sets of lashes hitting, the lipstick all over the place. Guys usually have no ego with me, whereas girls… Let’s be honest, this is a business where your income and popularity are directly related to how pretty you are.
By the time I did Heat, I was blonder. I’d noticed that the head of Wicked preferred blondes, and the more blond I got, the more work I got. Finally, I went fully blond, and it’s amazing what blond hair and big boobs instantly do, by the way. Everyone thinks you’re stupid, but they sure want you around. Sure enough, two months into my career, Wicked signed me and I had to finalize a stage name. My initial thought was Stephanie Storm, but they said it was too close to Stephanie Swift, another actress.
“Why don’t you keep Stormy?” the boss said. “There’s never been a Stormy, and it just suits you.”
Going with Stormy felt weird. Brad was born Rod Hopkins. Marilyn Monroe was Norma Jean Mortenson. If I had to be this larger-than-life character onscreen, could I really do it as Stormy? But I went with it, and chose Daniels as a last name, a tribute to a Jack Daniel’s ad I saw that called it “a Southern favorite.” You can take the girl out of her Dodge Durango and hitch-trailer…
Magazines were really huge back then, and Brad told me I needed to start meeting photographers. “You can shoot with them and increase your profile without saturating the video market,” he said. “Are there any photographers that you know?”
“Not in L.A.,” I said. “The only photographer that I know by name out here isn’t interested in shooting me.”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Because I’ve submitted Polaroids for years and they’ve never even responded.”
“Well, who’s that?” he asked. “I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to shoot you.”
“You have to say that because we’re fucking,” I said. “Her name’s Suze Randall.”
“Suze?” he said. “Let’s go to her house right now.”
“What? You know Suze?”
“She shoots me all the time,” he said. “She’ll shoot you.”
Suze Randall is a legend in photography, not just for being so talented, but for being a trailblazer. Born in England, she was initially a model, then became Playboy’s first female staff photographer and also one of the first women to direct porn. I was so nervous for the entire ride to her place, a thirty-acre ranch outside Malibu. As we approached, I saw she had horses, and my heart leapt a little.
She greeted us in riding pants, a dirty shirt, and a Q-tip shock of white hair. She immediately grabbed at Brad’s crotch. “Did you bring me a new little sluttie?” she asked, her demented singsong British accent making her sound like some horny headmistress. I was instantly in love. “Ohhhh,” she purred. “We need to get her on the calendar right away.”
The next time I was at the ranch, we shot in her studio. Before Suze even showed up, there were hours of prep work on lighting and wardrobe. Emma Nixon, a former model, did my makeup, and once again I was blinking from the weight of fake lashes. Finally, Suze came in and sat on a skateboard so she could quickly roll back and forth to get the angles.
“That’s right, show ’em your pink little twattie,” she said. “That’s a good little piggy. Piggy, piggy, piggy.” She could never get away with that now, but after I was over the initial horror, I fell deeper in love. Especially when I saw the finished product. She went on to shoot me fifty times and got me my first layout in Penthouse.
Once again, Brad had opened doors for me. I began tagging along to all of his sets to watch him direct. He was great at what he did, but writing all those scripts didn’t seem to be his favorite part, so he sometimes fell behind. We were sitting in bed together and he was grimacing at the screen.